[He doesn't have the feeling his own Loki is cackling. Rather, as he sometimes does, he's analysing every detail of the conversation, as if he's resting his suspiciously human-looking hands on Magpie's shoulders. One of Magpie's own hands comes to rest below his chin, in its clawed gauntlet, with one finger resting on the underside of his beak.]

I can't say it doesn't make sense, Crow. [After all, it's almost exactly what happened to him, give or take a few small details.]

If you want to know, I've always associated this suit with action. And you know the sorts of action I tend to take. The other is... [Ugh, he doesn't like to think about this—] more passive, I suppose. Like when I was younger.

[More afraid. More convinced others control his life, that he can't fight back; more convinced of the truth of the ways others see him. The train rattles to a halt, a couple of dozen levels down.]

... this is too high.